Bodies
by AMKelley
Summary: Some days are bad and some are worse and sometimes there's that one moment of serenity you feel by the end of the night, because another day of death and tragedy is finally over. But tomorrow's just around the corner with promises of more fallen victims of loose morals and fate and no one believes that things will get better anymore. And why should they? *Warnings/Notes inside*
1. Chapter 1

Warning(s): AU, Graphic depictions of violence, Various references to suicide and murder, Alcohol (additional warnings to be announced).

Notes: Inspired by the Smashing Pumpkins song Bodies. So let's get down to business... This ignores the plot of the SAW franchise, so the whole Jigsaw thing NEVER happened. Which means that a lot of things may be different including some OOC moments. I'd also like to point out that every authority figure is a detective (which means Strahm and Perez aren't FBI agents). And let's also pretend that Gibson is a little younger (let's say mid to late 20's).

As of right now I have no idea where this story is going nor do I know how long it's gonna be. I'm just going with the flow. I'll be updating tags and such as I go along including additional notes. I'll try to update when I can and keep readers posted as much as I can. So stay tuned and we'll get through this together! :D

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This was the last thing he needed. Strahm's morning had started off a little sour and finding out that his partner would be in the hospital for awhile after the incident a few nights before didn't settle too easily, but that wasn't the major kicker for him. No... It had been the fact that he'd be assigned a temporary partner until Lindsey got better from her wounds. He wasn't thrilled to say the least but it would happen whether he liked it or not. It wasn't Strahm's call to argue with superiors.

Strahm woke up on the particularly wrong side of the bed, not having slept a wink since Lindsey's accident, and knowing that Erickson would want to partner him up with another detective asap didn't sit well with him. Lindsey was the only partner he had, or needed. That's not to say that he didn't like his co-workers or judged their work ethics, he just had a special bond with Perez. Didn't every detective have that with their partner?

It was inevitable, though. Strahm shouldn't complain because Erickson would only be doing his job pairing him up with someone else just for a little while. It wouldn't kill Strahm, it wouldn't throw him off his game, and it definitely wouldn't make him unable to do his job. There was absolutely no reason to throw a tantrum over spilt milk, especially if Strahm wasn't the one to spill it.

Without the jolt of coffee or reassurance of a slow day, Strahm knew that it could only go downhill from there. So he did what he did best, buckled down and strode into work wearing his usual neutral expression with a storm cloud in tow. No one would hardly notice the difference between today or any other day, seeing as how Strahm always seemed to have some sort of chip on his shoulder, and people knew better than to pry at his personal, and even professional, life.

At first glance one could tell that Strahm wasn't the touchy feely type just by what his expression projected. Some would call it a gift because his job called for a level head and emotions clouded better judgment more often than not. But then there were people, much like his partner Lindsey, who thought it was a little disheartening to lack emotion altogether. And the truth was, no one really knew Strahm beyond anything more than a fundamental level. Not even Lindsey.

If anyone even remotely knew anything about Strahm they could see he wasn't completely devoid of feelings. There were moments when he absolutely lost control in the heat of things and went bat shit crazy with rage. If anyone was close to him they'd see the subtlest of facial twitches whenever he was sad or elated or concerned. They'd see he was human just like anyone else. Strahm wasn't a robot after all, but that wasn't to say he needed to work on proving it

It's a shame no one would ever find out who he really was because nobody had the minerals to take an active interest. Strahm wasn't a serious man, he was a stubborn man and while those were completely different things, nobody seemed to noticed the difference. It was just as well. Strahm was so stubborn that he'd rather be called serious over anything else, denying any claims that meant otherwise.

Right now though, Strahm could admit to being a little stubborn because he was acting like a child over the partner thing. He was still boiling about it even when he made it to his office, if not more, and he was thankful neither Gibson nor Hoffman noticed how he plopped down exceptionally fussy in his chair. Strahm didn't need Gibson worrying and he certainly didn't need Hoffman poking at his pride like he often did. He never knew a man that would actually take pleasure in emasculating others until he met Hoffman.

Strahm was glad he wasn't being partnered up with Hoffman anytime soon and it left him to wonder how Gibson put up with all his insults and less than savory sense of humor on a regular basis. Strahm didn't even enjoy being in the same room as him on occasion. He didn't hate Hoffman altogether, he just wasn't his biggest fan. Hoffman was great at his job and, like Strahm, he didn't sweat the little things but the way he conveyed his thoughts and feelings were watered down with sarcasm and coldness. You could find more sympathy in dog.

But Hoffman was a great detective and Strahm respected him in sense and even when they were competing with eachother they'd still have the other's back no matter what. The question was whether they did it because of their job or if they actually cared. Neither man would be brave enough to swallow their pride and admit the truth of that riddle because that would involve "feeling". That wasn't exactly their cup of tea.

But then there was Gibson. In a way Strahm could say that he... cared for the young man but only because he reminded Strahm of Lindsey. Gibson was still young and he often wore his heart on his sleeve, which wasn't a bad thing but if the kid wasn't good at keeping himself in check he could lose sight of things real fast. Even though Gibson was still fresh and naive he had his moments, putting pieces together that no one else could.

Gibson was going places fast, catching onto the drift of things quickly, and if he could put up with Hoffman then kudos to him because that was a feat worth gloating about. Then again, the relationship between him and Hoffman was hard to define. It was clear that Hoffman was a jerk sometimes, disregarding anyone else's feelings, but Gibson seemed patient enough to withstand the snide remarks.

But if there was one thing that was painfully true, it was the fact that Hoffman respected Gibson because Gibson wasn't just some submissive rookie. If Hoffman pushed him, he'd push back and harder. Gibson knew Hoffman's weak spot and the young man didn't hesitate to exploit it. To put it bluntly, Hoffman's didn't take kindly to people who mentioned his sister in a negative way and Gibson knew which buttons to press.

If Hoffman cared about one thing in this world it was Angelina and he was very protective of her, especially when guys tried to hit on her (which is what Gibson did to get back at Hoffman, everytime). It wasn't always about getting revenge because Gibson actually DID like Angelina and even though Hoffman would never allow it, he'd still try and flirt with her. It was oddly cute and Strahm always go a kick out of watching Hoffman glare holes through Gibson.

"Hey, did you ever file that report Erickson was asking for?" Gibson asked Hoffman, looking over a case file while trying to eat some form of breakfast.

Hoffman turned away from his desk to peer over at Gibson, watching his eyes scan along the sentences on the page and gauging to see if he was joking. But he wasn't.

"I thought I told you to take care of that," Hoffman scolded lightly. As lightly as someone like him could.

Gibson looked up from his papers and it was his turn to give Hoffman a quizzical furrow of his brows, sighing mentally because he knew what was coming next.

"It's homicide," Gibson stated matter-of-factly. "It falls under your jurisdiction. I'm just the lowly internal affairs detective." He went back to reading the police statement he had been distracted from and he cringed when he heard Hoffman grunt in displeasure, but inside Gibson was laughing. It was fun messing with Hoffman but he knew when to stop.

"Calm down, Mark. I already filled it out for you. You just have to swing by Dan's office before your shift is over," Gibson said monotonically, handing a separate stack of papers over to Hoffman without looking up.

Hoffman huffed and snatched the papers out of Gibson's hand, sneering as he did and gave Gibson a stern look that never got acknowledged. Strahm smirked to himself, forgetting about his own grief for just a moment, and himself show just a hint of amusement.

"You shouldn't poke the bear, Gibson. He might tear your head off," Strahm interjected, breaking the tension in the air and looking from Hoffman to Gibson then back to Hoffman. He smiled faintly at Hoffman. "And he won't think twice about it."

"That's right," Hoffman grinned triumphantly, rising up against Gibson's teasing. "I'm your superior and I deserve nothing but respect from you."

"You could do some work while you're at it too, Mark," Strahm said soon after, knocking that look of victory right off his smug face. "Maybe he'd respect you more if he wasn't covering your ass all the time."

Gibson laughed until there were tears in his eyes and Hoffman had a comeback right on the tip of his tongue but no one would ever know it because Erickson came in shortly after, making a silence fall over all of them. Gibson straightened up in his chair, wiping the remains of tears off his face and Hoffman bit his lip to stifle the growl building up in him.

Erickson eyed them suspiciously, looking each of them over with a wary gaze before nodding to himself. His gaze rested on Hoffman expectantly, seeming to get his point across when Hoffman rushed over with the file that Gibson had filled out for him. Gibson smiled to himself as Hoffman passed by him, earning him a tap to the back of the head that went unnoticed by Erickson.

"Filled them all out?" Erickson asked as he took stack from Hoffman.

"Yes, sir," Hoffman replied shooting a warning stare over his shoulder at Gibson who made a "my mouth is zipped" gesture, throwing away the key for good measure.

Erickson rifled through the papers, scanning each one quickly from years of experience and checking it again just to be sure. The older man sighed and made a put off face, looking back up to Hoffman with concern. Hoffman felt a surge of panic itch at the back of his neck for a split second then pushed it back before it could spread

"Where's the witness' statement?" Erickson questioned.

Hoffman could feel Gibson's smile burning into the back of his head.

That sneaky little bastard. Hoffman should've known better than to trust Gibson or at least smart enough to look it over before handing it over. Having the papers filled out for him and handed over on a silver plater had been too good to be true and Hoffman was currently plotting his revenge.

"I'm sorry, sir. I was filling out papers all night that it must've slipped my mind. I'll have them on your desk by tonight," Hoffman apologized, biting his tongue to keep from exploding. He wanted to wring Gibson's scrawny neck. "It won't happen again, sir."

Erickson nodded, accepting Hoffman's apology then turning to Gibson and Strahm to face them all.

"Listen, I got a call a little while ago and you three are wanted on the scene," Erickson informed. "I have detective Sing down there already scoping things out. Meet up with him and we'll get back to this later after you've done your sweep."

"Sing?" Strahm asked in a tone that hinted at surprise.

"Yes. I've assigned him as your new partner. Is that a problem?"

"No, sir," Strahm lied neutrally.

"Good, now get on this," Erickson said to them, referring to the crime scene that landed in their laps.

"Yes, sir," they all said in unison.

After Erickson left Hoffman shot a death stare over at Gibson and despite having a self-satisfied grin on his face he was visibly backing up in his chair and shrinking with each step the big man took towards him. Hoffman was mumbling curses and threats under his breath and Strahm sighed, dragging himself out of his chair to grab his coat before heading for the door. He stopped in the threshold to look back at the man looming over his victim.

"Do what you have to do just don't break him, Mark," Strahm chided sarcastically. "We can't afford another one."

Strahm put his coat on and walked out the door without looking back because in all honesty he wasn't the least bit interested in watching Hoffman eat that poor kid for breakfast.

They arrived at the scene of the crime. It was an ordinary apartment in a friendly neighborhood where nothing eventfull ever happened and people were milling around in the hallway trying to rubberneck, wanting to know what was going on inside of the once boisterous home. Strahm, Hoffman, and Gibson pushed past the nosy neighbors and once they were inside Strahm closed the door behind them. He shook his head disdainfully.

Detective Sing emerged from the bathroom looking completely erased, connecting eyes with Strahm who quickly looked away to take a long look around the living room. It seemed normal enough and looked as though it had just been cleaned, with the exception of a few toys lying around on the ground. Sing walked over to where the three men stood taking in their surroundings, then finally acknowledging Sing's presence.

Strahm has worked alongside Sing before, not as partners, just in the field in general. Much like Hoffman and Gibson. Sing used to be partnered up with Tapp until... the incident and he was a fine detective by Strahm's standards. But there was something that Strahm didn't like that he just couldn't put his finger on.

"Detective Sing," Strahm greeted, sticking out his hand to the young man. They shook hands and when they pulled away Strahm went on to introduce the other two. "This is detective Hoffman and detective Gibson."

Sing nodded to them both and took their hands in his by way of a proper greeting, smiling subtly in a friendly manner. They all knew eachother but this was just their way of breaking the ice whenever they were in the atmosphere of a crime scene. It somehow made it more professional than surreal. It let them know that here they weren't Peter or Mark or Matt or Steven. The were detectives. They were Strahm, Hoffman, Gibson, and Sing. Nothing else.

"Victim?" Strahm asked as he walked further into the apartment, scanning for anything that gave away what went down here.

"Victim's name is Paul Leahy. Aged forty-six, he's an engineer with a wife and kids," Sing recited from memory, watching Strahm inspect the area with Hoffman and Gibson in tow.

"You mean he WAS an engineer with a wife and kids," Hoffman remarked as he cast a gaze over at Strahm, looking him up and down with an unreadable expression.

Strahm was squatting down to get a better look at the various books on the bottom shelf of a bookcase, looking up at Hoffman who loomed over him with imposing superiority. It made Strahm shiver and he didn't know why. He didn't know what it was but for a brief panicking moment Strahm felt nervous under Hoffman's scrutinizing stare. Strahm straightened up after pretending to look at the books, moving up the length of Hoffman's body to stare him down with a faint flicker of something foreign flashing through his eyes.

There was a tension between them and neither man knew why or when it started but Strahm would be damned if he was stared at with such... he didn't even know what.

"Obviously," Sing replied with a roll of his eyes, snapping both Hoffman and Strahm out of their daze. "Or else we wouldn't be here right now."

"You'll have to excuse Hoffman. He's in a fussy mood today," Gibson said with a grin, making Hoffman glare at him in turn. Gibson wasn't afraid... Well... not really.

"And I wonder who's fault that is," Hoffman said, lowering his voice into something cold and joyless altogether.

"Nobody's but your own," Gibson countered.

Strahm closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, sensing an argument coming on and wanting to prevent it. Sing rolled his eyes again at the level of maturity, or lack thereof, between Gibson and Hoffman, sighing in a rushing huff as the two began to argue. Strahm cleared his throat to disrupt the growing noise, I mean, they were working... Some of the best detectives at the Metropolitian Police Department and what were they doing? Arguing. How childish did they look?

"Where's the body?" Strahm asked disinterestedly, addressing Sing and ignoring the other two.

Sing hooked his head in the direction of the bathroom and Strahm followed close behind, not particularly caring if Gibson and Hoffman stayed or went with them. When they got to the door a few people from forensics cleared out to make room for them, letting Strahm enter to see what had Sing so unnerved when he first greeted them.

The bathroom was pure white tile everywhere and completely spotless if it weren't for the scene that unraveled before Strahm's observant eyes. It was Paul, the victim, lying motionless in a bathtub that had over flown with water that had turned a dark crimson long after he had died. He was pale all over and naked, the life having been drained out of his body, and if Strahm were to put a hand to Paul's flesh he could be sure to be met with frigidity.

Paul's body was facing away from the door with his left arm dangling over the side of the porcelain tub, poised in such a way that he wouldn't sink under the water. Most of his body though was obscured by the crimson bathwater and Strahm stepped into the watery tomb of a bathroom to get a better look, being cautious as he tread over the blood and water that had covered entire tiled floor.

Sing hung in the doorway to silently observe the older man doing his thing, moving only slightly as Gibson and Hoffman came to see as well. They all watched as Strahm bent down so that he was level with Paul, scanning the victim for anything that might help his search. Strahm inspected Paul's left arm and noticed the trickle of blood dripping from his wrist. He reached in his coat to retrieve a pair of rubber gloves, pulling them down over his hands then grabbing Paul's wrist to turn his hand palm up.

There was a deep cut that started just under Paul's palm that ran down about three inches in a vertical line. Strahm closed his eyes and let Paul's cold hand slip free from his, sighing deeply as he stood up right once again, pulling the gloves off as if he had seen enough already. The gloves came off with a snap and he balled them up, stuffing them into his pocket. Sing, Hoffman, and Gibson stared at him expectantly and Strahm raised his arm up as if saying "that's it" before letting them fall back to his sides.

"Judging by the deep vertical laceration on the victim's left wrist, this wasn't an accident nor was it murder. Definitely a suicide," Strahm sighed frankly, seeming more put off than apathetic.

Strahm grabbed a towel that had been hanging on the rack and he threw it down on the ground outside of the bathroom, stepping onto it to dry off his shoes before walking around the vicinity again. Hoffman and Gibson gave eachother a dumbfounded expression following Strahm and Sing out into the living room once again.

"I don't get it," Gibson began with a puzzled tone, "where's the catch?"

"No catch," Sing informed as if he knew all along.

"We were called in for a suicide?" Hoffman complained as if they weren't talking about a human being.

But then again, they weren't. He wasn't a human being anymore. He was just a body.

"I had to have you come down here before I was sure," Sing said to Strahm, disregarding Hoffman's irritation.

"Sure of what?" Hoffman asked, demanding an explanation as his blood started to boil. As if it were Sing's fault for making him do his job.

"There's a serial killer who's been going around and making it look like his victims are offing themselves," Strahm informed blatantly, facing the three detectives and when Sing arched his eyebrows in surprise he continued. "I read your report," he told Sing. "You paid great attention to detail. Pretty impressive if I say so myself."

"Thank you," Sing said with a small smile, letting the compliment sink in like a warm bath.

"How can you be so sure that this was a suicide then?" Gibson questioned with a level tone.

"All of the other victims had defensive wounds," Strahm answered for Sing. "And our friend Paul here had none."

"Not only that but the killer never repeats a scenario," Sing added.

"Then why did you need to call us down here if you already knew?" Hoffman grumbled, crossing his arms across his chest and fixing Sing with a scornful look.

"I didn't. The killer already drowned someone but i knew that wasn't the cause of death. Slashed wrists was new and he was too obscured by the bloody water to tell if he had defensive wounds. I wanted a second opinion to be sure," Sing admitted with a shrug of his shoulders. "Who better to take a look than detective Strahm?"

Hoffman sighed inaudibly and let go of the unanswered questions he wanted to ask, but he knew now wasn't the time nor place to start a debate. He already did that once with Gibson and caused a scene. He had to admit though he was kind of jealous of Sing's admiration to Strahm and vice versa because Strahm never admitted to admiring someone's hard work out in the open. What made Sing so special? What made him any different from Hoffman?

Were his praises genuine or were they just for Sing's benefit?

Hoffman was sure that Strahm would hate being assigned a new partner that wasn't Lindsey and it was confirmed by the way Strahm had stormed into work today. He saw the way Strahm had thrown himself into his chair with a full body huff and ever since then Strahm has been exceptionally bland and uninterested in everything around him. Oh yes, Hoffman knew all about Strahm. Strahm may think he's built like a fortress but after twenty years of being on the force Hoffman knows a thing or two about reading even the most headstrong people.

He watched Strahm and Sing exchange a few notes and theories about "The Killer" and he secretly loathed the way they talked to eachother and their closeness and he didn't know why. Hoffman flashed his eyes over to Gibson who was busy tying his shoe and he wondered why him and his partner weren't like that. But in the end Hoffman had to write Strahm's and Sing's behavior off as a passion for their job. A passion for justice.

Yeah, Hoffman could breath easier believing that.

Later on when they all returned to the station, Sing had filed the report of Paul Leahy's suicide and ruled it out as just that. After they had drained the tub Strahm and Sing were given a better look at Paul and after close inspection it was obvious it wasn't the doing of "The Killer". Strahm wasn't the most imaginative person so the perp was unofficially dubbed "The Killer" amongst the fellow detectives working on the case.

Hoffman was left by himself when Strahm had worked with Sing on the report and Gibson had some more pressing matters at the moment, letting him have some free time to fill out the witness' statement that was so conveniently left out of his file. He was still mad at Gibson for that but then again could he really complain? It was just a two page summary and Gibson had done the harder stuff for him so this should be a piece of cake right?

Wrong.

Hoffman couldn't focus on his writing and he made several mistakes which caused him to lash out every time he had to use white out. He couldn't take his mind off of Strahm, the way he had complimented Sing so freely and openly or how Strahm had stared at him. How he stared at Strahm. What was that about anyway? Why had he felt so... powerful standing over Strahm? And when Strahm stood up to level with him... There was something in his eyes that was a little off from their usual stoic demeanor.

It was like he was... feeling something and only his eyes knew what they were saying. Hoffman doesn't think Strahm noticed it either because he had barely caught it before Sing interrupted their staring war. Strahm showing any hint of feeling was unusual but the feelings Hoffman was having were even more unnerving for him, leaving him to wonder when he had gotten so jealous of the way Strahm treated others. Lindsey was an exception but Gibson and Sing were different.

Why was Hoffman given the cold shoulder out of all of them?

Hoffman looked down at the forms to see that they were completely filled out now, having gotten carried away with his thoughts to notice sooner. Well, that was one less thing for him to worry about and if he wanted to impress Erickson he could swing this by his office right now instead of later, but eventually he decided against it. It didn't really matter either way and he felt like that'd be seeking attention or praise. Hoffman didn't need the approval of anyone else just because Strahm admired Sing's work without shame of admitting it.

Boy did he despise Strahm, but goddamn it did he respect him.

And speak of the devil... Right on cue as if his mind had been read. Strahm waltzed through the door of their shared office, alone, and sat down at his desk, looking a faint shade of distressed which was quite odd for Strahm. Strahm never looked stressed and never complained no matter how much he wanted to. But stressed wasn't the only thing visible in the man's features, he was also weary, tired in a way. Not physically but emotionally drained by today's events.

It began to gnaw at Hoffman and he felt like he had to help in some way because if Strahm was bummed out, Hoffman would get bummed out. Besides, there was a storm cloud practically raining over Strahm's head.

"I know I'm the last person that'd ask you this, and you don't have to humor me, but what's up? What's eating you?" Hoffman asked a tad sardonically, trying to sound like a true concerned friend. "Is it about Perez?"

Strahm gave him an acknowledging once over, choosing to ignore Hoffman's last question because he didn't feel like getting into that just now. He was too exhausted and the subject of his partner's well-being required too much brain power and feelings. Strahm was afraid that if he wasn't alert that he'd reveal far too much of himself to Hoffman. More than he'd like to at least.

"I was just thinking about Paul," Strahm said in a far off voice.

"What about him?" Hoffman pressed, getting more curious as to what Strahm would say.

"Even as I examined him..." Strahm trailed off, not meeting Hoffman's eyes. "I just don't understand something." Strahm furrowed his eyebrows as if to concentrate in deep thought, tapping his thumb against the surface of his desk to counter balance the thrumming in his head.

"What's that?" Hoffman offered, taking the bait that Strahm obliviously set out for him.

"Paul was a middle-aged, middle-class family man with a steady income and lived in a wonderful neighborhood to boot and his neighbors were quite fond of him. My question is why he'd throw that all away?"

"Are you beginning to consider the killer theory?" Hoffman asked with a slightly mocking lilt in his voice.

"No," Strahm said plainly. "I'm just trying to figure out why he checked out early. He was a completely ordinary man with a satisfying life yet he gave up on himself."

"But how could know if his life was satisfying?" Hoffman questioned, raising his voice just a little more than usual. "For all you know he could've been a very sad and lonely man. He could've been miserable."

"But his wife had said he looked so happy all the time and that he enjoyed life to the fullest. Especially family time," Strahm defended sappily.

"People lie, Peter," Hoffman said matter-of-factly, not sugar coating it. "Not only to others but to themselves. It's one thing to tell a lie but there are some people who pretend to be happy when deep down inside they're dying. The only way to see someone for who they really are is to look them in the eyes."

Strahm looked over at Hoffman and for a brief moment they shared a mutual understanding. He seemed to know where Hoffman was coming from and it left him to wonder when the other man had gotten so wise. Strahm shivered again like he had back at the apartment but never tore his eyes away from Hoffman's for one second.

"You stare a person in the eyes and you find out all their secrets."


	2. Chapter 2

"Christ... What the hell happened here?" Gibson inquired as he side-stepped into the charred archway of the dilapidated building. Hoffman turned around to his partner and gave him an "are you serious" look.

"What do you think happened, Sherlock?" Hoffman berated in his cold voice, leering at Gibson as if he wasn't in the mood for the kid's playful stupidity today. "A birthday party?" He huffed sarcastically. "How the hell did you ever become a detective?"

"I was just trying to-"

"Maybe you should just keep your mouth closed so you can stop asking stupid questions," Hoffman cut off harshly.

"At least I do my fair share of work!" Gibson bit out angrily.

"Calm down, ladies," sighed Strahm as he emerged from the other room in the destroyed building, slipping his flashlight into his coat pocket. He cast a gaze over at Gibson who automatically straightened up. A habit he must've picked up from boot camp. But Hoffman stayed slouching even when Strahm looked over at him. A habit he must've picked up from being a stubborn bastard.

"This is a crime scene and if you don't treat it as such, I'll have to ask you both to leave," Strahm threatened. Hoffman was watching him intently the whole time, making Strahm shiver just a little from the man's intense gaze. "You girls gonna play nice?"

"Ha-ha-fucking-ha," Hoffman scoffed tastelessly with a roll of his eyes.

"Peter, I was just trying to be inquisitive but Mark..." Gibson trailed off, knowing Strahm didn't care for his excuses or who's fault it was. Strahm only cared about work.

"You two done?" Strahm asked disinterestedly, looking between both men to see if they had any last words and as soon as Strahm turned around he could hear Hoffman coming up with a snide remark. He really should've seen it coming.

"Speaking of girls," Hoffman started with a faint smirk, "Where's your boyfriend, Peter?"

Strahm pivoted back to Hoffman to retort but the comeback he had on the tip of his tongue slowly dissolved and turned into a smile. For a moment Hoffman thought he had Strahm at a loss of words but he followed the other man's line of sight, noticing he was staring past him instead of at him. What was so damn funny that had Strahm smiling?

"Right behind you, sweetheart," Sing replied mirthlessly, staring holes into the back of Hoffman's head. Sing pushed past Gibson and Hoffman, walking over to where Strahm was before shooting a look over his shoulder. "You should keep you're bitch on a tighter leash next time, Gibson."

Hoffman's face turned pink with fury and embarrassment, fuming from the degrading remark Sing threw in before slipping off into the other room as Strahm followed with the faintest of smirks creasing his lips. Gibson looked out the corner of his eye to see Hoffman rhythmically clenching his jaw and tried to think of something to say but decided not to. So Gibson scurried off to find the others to let Hoffman boil before he exploded.

As they all regrouped into one of the less destroyed rooms the smell of burnt and soggy wood hung heavy in the air, causing the ones with weak stomachs to cover their face with the back of their hand. But Strahm, or Hoffman for that matter, was affected by the mingling odors of a recent fire that was put out. They've seen all kinds of things in their day and this was nothing compared to some of the worse ones.

The fire department did a good job at putting out the fire fast but they weren't fast enough to save the people trapped inside. From what Strahm could tell no one had survived because the further they went in the stronger the smell of burnt flesh got and a grave look of knowing had fallen all over them. They knew they weren't going to find anybody but that's not the reason they were there.

Strahm lead the way down the hall to stop in front of one of the charred doors, reaching for the doorknob to see if it would open but it wouldn't budge. The metal melted when the building caught on fire but Strahm was determined to get inside that room. He backed up, kicking rubble away with the side of his feet and seeming to know what Strahm was about to do Hoffman stood right next to him. They gave eachother a once over before pivoting sideways to charge the door.

Both Hoffman and Strahm took off at the same time, rushing the small distance between them and the door to slam into it with their shoulders hard enough to bust it down. The door slammed open harshly against the wall and it was a miracle the door didn't fly off of it's destroyed hinges or shatter to pieces. Strahm fell through on a weak step and stumbled forward slightly as his foot went through the floor board.

Before Strahm could do a face dive into the charred remains of a corpse he was pulled away swiftly as Hoffman reached out to grasp his upper arm and yank him back. It was a rough yank that brought him and Hoffman face to face but Strahm couldn't complain since Hoffman actually helped him for once. Nevertheless, he was upright now and the logical thing to do would be to carry on with work but Strahm couldn't move.

Strahm just stood there staring at Hoffman dumbfoundedly. He was panting from the mini heart attack he had before Hoffman pulled him back and he wouldn't stop panting because Hoffman was far to close and it was too intimate for it to be okay. They were both quite aware that Gibson and Sing were still standing there and if they lingered like this for too long the younger men would start to think a little too much about their professional relationship.

Hoffman let go of Strahm's arm, causing the other man to just realize that he was even still gripping it in the first place. Strahm caught his breath and for a spilt second there was an expression of worry etched across Hoffman's face until it vanished into it's usual cold and vacant stare. But Strahm had seen the concern in the veteran detective's face and it left him to wonder if Hoffman was actually human after all.

"Fire department says the fire started here," Strahm announced loud enough for everyone to hear as he changed the subject. Strahm brushed against Hoffman as he walked past him to get further into the room and Strahm swore he heard the other man sigh.

"How did they know it started here?" Gibson inquired, covering his face and stepping over the gap Strahm's foot left in the ground.

"Someone tipped them off from the payphone out front," said Strahm as he pulled out his flashlight and bent down to sift through the black rubble that covered the ground.

Gibson looked around the room. His eyes flickered over the ceiling and he realized he was standing under a weak spot that could crush him at any moment. Swallowing hard he stepped off to the side so that he was out of harms way but it didn't calm his nerves.

"You guys think it's safe enough to be in here?" Gibson wondered out loud before he could stop himself and the only reply he got was a glare from both Hoffman and Strahm.

Strahm tossed a piece of burnt wood off to the side carelessly, growing weary because he wasn't finding anything to advance their search. He stood up with a sigh, ready to give up because the hearsay of the fire department couldn't be very reliable at times. Just as Strahm was about to put his flashlight away a glimmer of something caught his eye.

He trudged over all the rubble to the other side of the room but even as he made his way over he noticed that Sing's face had paled and he looked as though he might start dry heaving. Strahm would remember where he saw the glimmer. Making a detour, Strahm made his way over to Sing as Hoffman and Gibson busied themselves elsewhere.

"You okay?" Strahm asked. He was a little concerned about his temporary partner, if only because it was affecting his search, but he had to make sure the man was alright. "Something bothering you?"

"I just... I can't..." Sing broke off into shallow pants, trying to calm himself down but he knew as soon as he tried to speak again he might be too choked up to get a word out. Sing took one last deep breath and exhaled slowly, intent on keeping his cool. "I can't be in here right now, Strahm."

"What's wrong?" Strahm pressed, wanting a good reason why Sing wished to be excused.

"Personal matters, sir," Sing replied staring over at what was left of the charred corpse if only for a heart beat. Sing covered his mouth as if he was afraid of vomiting and shut his eyes tightly.

"I'll excuse you just this once," Strahm warned with a light tone, not exactly meaning to sound threatening.

"Thank you, sir."

Sing rushed out of the room without another word and Strahm focused hard on what just happened. Strahm knew Sing wasn't faint of heart and his record was quite impressive since he's been with Metropolitian Police Department but lately he's been a little off. All four of them have been a little off but there was something in the way Sing stared at the body just before leaving.

That's when it occurred to Strahm. Sing had lost his partner in an explosion, the same explosion that almost took his partner Lindsey's life. Strahm had forgotten all about Tapp because he was too preoccupied being concerned about Perez and visiting her in the hospital. When they had finally pulled Tapp's body out of the rubble it was unidentifiable, just like the body that was in the room with them.

That could definitely trigger some bad memories.

"Hey, Mark," Strahm called over to the large man. "Can you check around there? I think I might've seen something." Strahm pointed over to where he meant to go so Hoffman could have a vague idea of where to look.

"Sure. Where are going?" Hoffman inquired thoughtfully. "Checking on your boyfriend?"

"Shut up and look," Strahm huffed as he stormed out of the room.

"What am I looking for?" Hoffman called after Strahm but he was too far down the hall to hear or even care. Hoffman looked over at Gibson and the younger man just shrugged.

Strahm marched down the long hallway, stepping over ash and broken wood that made a snapping sound whenever his foot came down upon the spine of a plank. As he neared the entrance of the building Strahm heard, and felt, a crunching sound underneath his feet. He spared a quick glance down and shuffled his foot to the side, noticing little pieces of broken glass. Not thinking twice about it, Strahm brushed it off to go outside.

Strahm stumbled out of the building that was barely standing on it's ruined foundation and gave a pitiful look down at his scuffed shoes. There was a good chance they were ruined but that was something he'd have to worry about later. Right now he needed to talk to his temporary partner and see if he'd be able to do his job or not because Strahm didn't want to be dragged down by Sing's problems, as harsh as it sounds.

After fussing over his left shoe Strahm straightened up and walked over to were Sing was standing by a fire truck, looking forlornly down at the ground. It was a conversation Strahm didn't want to have but if it affected the team's work it needed to be dealt with fast. Sing looked up when he heard the familiar footfalls and frowned slightly, knowing Strahm was coming out here to chew him out. Sing straightened up nonetheless.

"Sir, I know I should be in there with the rest of you-"

"You don't have to call me sir, Steven. Peter's fine," Strahm reassured lightly, as lightly as someone like him could. Strahm could be nice and considerate at times, it was Hoffman who was cold and cynical. Strahm was still human.

"Peter, I really didn't want to leave the crime scene but..." Sing looked off into the distance, face twisted up in a mixture of pain and sorrow and Strahm was sure he might cry.

"I heard what happened to David," Strahm said after Sing didn't continue, hoping to share some condolences while making Ding feel a little better. "He was a good man and a fine detective. I'm sure he was proud to be your partner."

"Perez was in there too, wasn't she?"

"Yeah. She has to stay in the hospital for awhile, but the doctors say she'll be alright," Strahm replied, cringing at every word because his partner was still alive and Sing's was dead. It made the situation awkward and unfair all of a sudden.

There was a wave of silence that crept over them afterwards and Strahm couldn't think of what to say next because he initially came out here determined to knock some sense into Sing but seeing the young man looking all heartbroken and pitiful made him do the opposite. If Strahm left the conversation now it would be inappropriate and rude but he had nothing else to say. He was ready to turn around and leave anyway but Sing stepped forward and placed a hand on Strahm's shoulder.

"To be honest, sir, I thought you were going to rip me a new one for sure," Sing half chuckled, nerves getting the better of him as he squeezed Strahm's shoulder by reflex.

"As long as this doesn't happen again, I won't. I understand what you're going through but if this behavior continues I'll have to tell Erickson," Strahm warned, his regular work demeanor coming back to surface despite his best efforts. Sing seemed to understand and respect where Strahm was coming from though.

"I know, sir. I'm sorry. I'll make sure I have my emotions under control next time," Sing rambled like a nervous rookie even though he was anything but. Sing let his hand slip off of Strahm's shoulder to fall back down to his side.

"Listen," Strahm stepped closer to Sing, a little too close than he would've liked but Sing needed to know that Strahm was a good guy underneath his tough and determined exterior. "If you need some time off, I'm sure I could talk out a deal with Dan," Strahm whispered as if it were a secret.

"Thank you, but I'll be fine, sir. I promise," said Sing, giving a tiny half smile for reassurance. He knew Strahm was barely buying it and Sing himself felt a little iffy by the statement too, but he wouldn't let that bring him down.

"And Steven?"

"Yes, sir?"

"It's Peter," Strahm grinned subtly, turning around to go back inside the building to rejoin the other two.

"Yes, sir- Uhh, Peter," Sing scrambled with a blush.

Back inside Strahm regrouped with Gibson and Hoffman. As he walked through the doorway and stepped over all the rubble Hoffman motioned him over to the spot he was told to search. Strahm clambered over to Hoffman and bent down next to him, shoulders and knees bumping in the process. They both gave eachother a stern look as if to blame the other for touching, but letting it go and looking back down at the ground.

Strahm could still feel Hoffman looking at him though, just out of the corner of his eye. It was a weird habit Hoffman had picked up over the past few days and Strahm was very aware of the attention he was getting. He suddenly felt put on the spot everytime he felt Hoffman's eyes on him, especially when he was in a compromising position.

Hoffman's eyes seemed to be glued to him whenever he bent over or crouched on the ground and every time Strahm would look up he'd find Hoffman looming over him. Strahm wondered if Hoffman knew it was pressing his buttons and making him nervous or if he just did it to do it. Hoffman seemed to be going through a power trip or it could also be that he was a little threatened by the imbalance of dominance in their working relationship.

They both knew Strahm was being exceptionally bossy lately because of what happened to his partner but Hoffman wasn't one to take orders from anyone, except maybe Erickson. You'd think Hoffman wouldn't be as compliant as Strahm demanded but there was something in the way Hoffman would crowd him every chance he got. Something a little off in his stance.

"Find anything?" Strahm asked as he sifted through pieces of charred wood.

"Maybe I did and maybe I didn't," Hoffman replied childishly, looking around nonchalantly.

"I know you found something, Mark, now show me it." Strahm didn't have time for Hoffman's games and if Strahm was correct he did see something shining over here, but if he could spot it from across the room then he was sure Hoffman found it too. He knew Hoffman had it on him too.

"Ask nicely and maybe I will," Hoffman hummed lowly, giving Strahm a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows. It made Strahm blush only slightly and he exhaled with a huff.

"Please give it to me, Mark." When the words left Strahm's lips he knew exactly how it sounded and judging by Hoffman's pleased smile it's exactly what the large man wanted to hear.

"Give you what exactly?" Hoffman countered slyly, making the other man blush even more than before. They both knew just how sexual it began to sound and just before Hoffman could continue his barrage of suggestive puns Gibson stumbled over to them.

"What did you find?" The junior detective asked brightly in hopes that it would be their ticket out of this death trap. Gibson hunched over to stick his head in between them and stared expectantly at Hoffman.

Sighing, Hoffman clicked his light off and put it back into his pocket to pull out a shard of clear glass that was only singed on one jagged edge. Hoffman held it up and Gibson shined his flashlight on it to get a better look. On the opposite end of the shard was half of a Jack Daniels insignia that was badly worn from it's previous environment but still remained readable.

"Molotov?" Gibson observed, offering an explanation for the cause of fire.

"It would explain the shattered window and the trajectory is right." Hoffman stood up to double check the alignment of the window and their current position. "If the suspect threw it hard enough it would end up right where we're standing."

Gibson averted his eyes to the ground to search for more broken glass but found none.

"How did one bottle of Jack cause all of this? Surely the fire couldn't have spread that fast," Gibson thought out loud, searching for answers from the wiser detectives.

"Because it didn't. I'm not so sure one bottle was used to burn this place down," Strahm said matter-of-factly, looking up at Hoffman to see he was doing that thing again where he just loomed over him. Strahm stood up, keeping his gaze fixed on Hoffman the whole time. Gibson stared at him as if he were expecting a further explanation.

"Near the entrance I stepped on some glass. I didn't think it was connected but now I do. If we get forensics in here I'm sure they could find more glass in one of these rooms. But it definitely started here," Strahm gestured by pointing down at the ground beneath his feet. "Gentlemen, we're dealing with an arsonist."

Later on when they all left the crime scene and were finished with their shift the detectives found themselves in the locker room, sore and exhausted and really itching to for a pint. Well, mostly Hoffman and Gibson wanted to go to the bar. Sing left earlier without even stopping off in the locker room but he did has the decency to say by to all of them. Strahm didn't really blame him.

Gibson and Hoffman were currently trying to convince a half naked Strahm to come with them to the bar for one drink but Strahm was being a stubborn party-pooper. Strahm drank his fair share of alcohol but he didn't like going out in public around inebriated drunkards that couldn't hold their liquor. He'd have to fight the strong impulse to arrest someone if he went.

But they were persistent fuckers that wanted to ruin Strahm's ideal quiet evening at his apartment, so even when Strahm said no for the twentieth time neither Hoffman nor Gibson were backing down. Strahm could just walk away if it weren't for Hoffman acting like a wall in front of his locker. Strahm was only half dressed in his jeans and the shirt he meant to reach for earlier was inaccessible, leaving his torso exposed as Hoffman and Gibson towered over him on the bench.

It was that Strahm was self-conscious of his body he just didn't like being exposed in front of his male co-workers for anything longer than a short amount of time, especially when Hoffman stares at him in such a predatory way. Strahm feels naked. Gibson has already changed into regular clothing that's comfortable for him but Hoffman still has his slacks on, but barely. His belt was undone and his fly was open and from the angle Strahm was sitting he was face to face with Hoffman's crotch.

"You gonna come with us or am I gonna have to drag you out of here buck naked?" Hoffman demanded playfully, letting his button up shirt fall open to reveal a glimpse of his chest.

It made Strahm swallow hard.

"Please!" Gibson moaned like the child he was. Gibson was like an excited puppy that was promised a ride in the car and Hoffman had promised Gibson Strahm would come out with them tonight. "You never go out with us and it's so boring being left alone with Mark."

"The feeling's mutual, pipsqueak," Hoffman mumbled out the side of his mouth. Hoffman crossed his arms across his chest, catching Strahm staring as he turned his face back towards the man below him. "Come Pete, it'll be fun."

"My name is Peter," Strahm said obstinately, looking up at Hoffman challenging despite his disadvantage.

"Are you coming?" Hoffman asked again, exhaling in a huff.

"Will you stop holding my locker hostage?" Strahm inquired, bracing his hands on either side of him on the bench to recline back.

Strahm was still insecure about the whole situation but he wouldn't give Hoffman the satisfaction of looking weak. So what if Strahm didn't have a shirt on and Hoffman's crotch was in his face, two can play that game. The moment Strahm's arms were poised off to the side Hoffman's posture changed and he couldn't stop his eyes from drifting down.

Hoffman was hooked. He couldn't look away as Strahm made himself more comfortable on the bench and Strahm had a self-satisfied grin on his face. Gibson looked between them and furrowed his brows in confusion, eyes flicking from Hoffman to Strahm. They must've forgot Gibson was there or they just didn't care, but Hoffman was staring freely at Strahm's well-proportioned chest.

"Maaarrk," Strahm purred tauntingly, dragging out the syllable to get Hoffman's attention. "I asked you a question."

Hoffman caught up with what Strahm was saying and quickly movedout of the way to let Strahm into his locker. Strahm smiled to himself and opened up his locker to retrieve his black polo shirt, turning it right side out before pulling it over his head and he knew Hoffman was gauging every little movement. Gibson was still at a loss.

"Wait, does that mean you're coming?" Gibson asked expectantly, tail waging.

"Yeah, I'll come," Strahm replied with a nod of his head, giving Hoffman a little wink before pulling on his shoes and standing up to give Hoffman a full body check. "Aren't you coming too Mark?"

And despite his best efforts Hoffman blushed at Strahm's overuse of the word "come".

One drink turned into five and when the three of them got fed up with beer it turned into hard liquor. Shot after shot was slammed down and by the end of the night they were all drunk off their asses, Gibson a little more tipsy than Hoffman or Strahm. But Strahm was definitely plastered to the point that when it was time to leave he was falling down and tripping over his feet.

Gibson decided to take the bus home that night and Hoffman called a cab for him and Strahm because if Strahm rode on a bus he'd probably throw up all over himself. So Hoffman climbed into the back of the cab when Strahm clambered inside and successfully bumped his head on the car hood. He shut the door and gave the cabbie Strahm's address, the car revved up and took off down the street.

The whole ride to Strahm's apartment was consisted of clinging and unintelligible murmurs in Hoffman's ear. Strahm's breath was hot and drenched in the strong scent of alcohol he'd been drinking that night but Hoffman would be lying if it didn't make his pulse quicken even more. Strahm was propped up against Hoffman's chest and clinging to his arms as if he were afraid to fall down.

"Mmm Mark," Strahm murmured hotly into Hoffman's ear, lips brushing against the lobe just briefly. "Where are you taking me?"

"I'm taking you home, Peter," Hoffman said calmly, turning his face to Strahm just a little. Hoffman knew by turning his head that he'd be dangerously close to Strahm's face but Hoffman figured he could take advantage just this once.

"My home?" Strahm asked inquisitively like it was the most difficult thing to comprehend but then again Strahm was drunk off his ass, clinging to Hoffman's arms and chest like a lifeline.

"Where else would I take you?"

"You could take me anywhere and I wouldn't give a damn," Strahm chuckled breathlessly into Hoffman's ear, leaning forward so that the side of his mouth and part of his cheek was resting against Hoffman's cheek. "Mmm, could take me to your place."

Whether it was the fact that Strahm trailed a finger down his chest or the fact that they were almost practically kissing, but that suggestion alone was enough the make Hoffman shiver with want. He didn't know if it was the combination of alcohol and setting but there was a part of his brain that was screaming at the cabbie to turn around and take them to his apartment instead. But Hoffman knew that was wrong and he couldn't take advantage of his friend.

Strahm was drunk and he didn't mean what he was saying, Hoffman was sure of it, and Hoffman didn't have feelings for the other man either. Hoffman kept repeating this to himself in his head and as the cab zigged and zagged down the streets his and Strahm's face were painted in the limelight of night. Strahm stopped talking eventually and he just laid there against Hoffman's solid body and if Hoffman slung an arm around Strahm's shoulders it was only to keep him secure in his seat. Or so he told himself.

When they got to Strahm's apartment Hoffman told the cab to wait for him to return so he could drop off his drunk co-worker. Hoffman was glad Strahm only lived on the second floor or this would take all night trying to haul the other man up the stairs. Hoffman took Strahm's left arm and slung it over his shoulders, hoisting him up to get better leverage and a better grip. He snuck an arm around Strahm's waist to pull him in closely and when they got past the first gauntlet, the front door, it was on to the next one.

It surprisingly didn't take long for Hoffman to get Strahm up two flights of stairs since his inebriated friend was trying to help move the process along and they were at Strahm's door in no time. Hoffman propped Strahm up against the wall and dug around in Strahm's pockets for his keys and after a few close brushes against his upper inner thighs Hoffman couldn't find them. Strahm started to giggle like a schoolgirl and jingle the keys in front of Hoffman's face while covering his mouth, as if to be coy.

"Looking for these?" Strahm teased behind a snicker.

Hoffman snatched them out of his hand with a huff and unlocked the door, slinging Strahm over his shoulders once more and pulling him in close. Strahm's place was pretty standard but still nice and well kept. He lived alone by the looks of it and there was no sign of any pets milling around and nothing that suggested he was seeing anyone. Not that it mattered much to Hoffman or anything...

He had nice furniture and a decent collection of books that were placed upon bookcases that looked as though they were dusted weekly. Hoffman spared a glance over at his little kitchen and it appeared to be spotless, no dirty dishes or anything. Strahm really needed to get out more instead of spending his time cleaning his house every waking moment he's not at work or visiting Perez.

They stumbled into Strahm's dark bedroom and Hoffman didn't bother turning the light on since light from the other room was shining in to help guide the way. Hoffman shuffled Strahm over to his bed and laid the man down gently, moving swiftly to tug off the other man's shoes and setting them beside the bed. Before Hoffman could turn to leave Strahm caught him by the wrist and pulled the large man to him.

"I had fun tonight, Mark. You're a really good friend," Strahm slurred as he whispered those words like it was secret, and maybe it was? "We should do it again one night. Just you and me."

"Sure. We can do that. Anytime, buddy," Hoffman promised as he returned Strahm's awkward little half-hearted hug. It felt so right and Hoffman didn't want to let go, but it was late and Strahm was vulnerable. "I gotta go now."

"No," Strahm pleaded weakly while clinging to the front of Hoffman's shirt, eyes closed. "Stay. Please stay with me."

The admission hurt Hoffman more than it hurt Strahm and Hoffman could feel his heart clenching for a man he didn't even consider his friend hours ago. But Strahm was begging for him to stay even when they both knew he couldn't, so instead Hoffman leant forward and kissed Strahm on his forehead in a kind gesture.

"Peter, you're drunk and you won't even remember any of this," Hoffman murmured against Strahm's forehead and backed away slowly, letting Strahm's hands release from his shirt and fall to his chest. "You won't remember me being here."

"I will remember," Strahm vowed on the verge of passing out as he let Hoffman drape his big blankets over his pliant and exhausted body. "I will."

"Goodnight, Peter," Hoffman said softly before closing the door and shutting the room completely in darkness, a darkness that consumed Strahm with sleep. Hoffman left Strahm's apartment, making sure to lock it up behind him before going back to his regular life.

And sometime during Strahm's deep sleep he murmured three words as clear as day:

"I will remember."


End file.
